Good Intentions: Mutha of the Year

My daughter and Roger Federer had something in common last weekend: uncontrollable hysterics.

But unlike Roger Federer's display of unbridled emotion upon losing to Rafael Nadal in the Australian Open final - a final that would have netted him 14 Grand Slam titles to equal the record of tennis great Pete Sampras - my daughter's unraveling was completely my fault.

Naturally.

"Take it!" I had yelled from the sidelines in the midst of her 3rd & 4th grade league basketball game.

The girl my daughter was guarding had stopped dribbling the ball and held it tenuously in her hands, barely gripping it in the way one might hold a half-rotted jack-o-lantern, wishing it wasn't quite so mushy.

Without thinking too much (which, incidentally, is one of my greatest skills), I blurted out, "Take it!" with gusto and enthusiasm. And guess what? That's exactly what she did. In an instant, the blink of an eye, my daughter reached forward and boldly and decisively snatched the ball from her opponent. And when she did, the entire crowd of adoring parents and grandparents - but mostly a very loud and surprised me - laughed out loud.

Bwaaaahhaaaa.

I couldn't help it. I think I was in shock. Parents of nine and three-quarter-year-olds might be able to relate, because nine and three-quarter-year-olds are almost always completely deaf to their parents. Believe me, I could jump up and down in front of my daughter wearing nothing but a Jonas Brothers t-shirt, screaming, "Do you want ice-cream? Chocolate? Trip to Disney World?" and she would not even bat an eyelash.

But this time, after miraculously hearing and heeding my bad advice to "Take it!" my daughter was stopped dead in her tracks not only by the laughter of the crowd [read: her mother's cackling] but by the referee's whistle. Tweeet!

"You're not allowed to grab the ball like that," he had said matter-of-factly, the same way a produce department employee might say, "We're all out of asparagus."

Of course, I didn't even hear the referee because I was too busy laughing and chit-chatting with the grandma next to me about how I needed to be gagged during games like this. She agreed, and we laughed and laughed.

My laughing and chit-chatting were interrupted when my daughter suddenly beelined off the court and buried her face in my chest, sobbing.

She was utterly mortified - embarrassed and wishing she could be anywhere else in the world but in the painful spotlight of the basketball court.

"You can't just go in the locker room and take a cold shower, take it easy - you're stuck out there. It's rough."

I know, Roger. I know.

But at least it's not your mother's fault.